Another mass shooting finds us hugging our kids and looking to God
Uvalde grieves. We all grieve for children robbed of life at Robb Elementary.
Children who came to school in a bus and left in a hearse. Could anything be worse?
It’s hard to imagine. It’s hard to comprehend. It’s hardly elementary. It’s complicated. It’s evil.
It’s a duplicate snapshot of our wounded nation that continues to hemorrhage from the inside out.
It’s a faded photograph of a broken hearted country still unable to breathe on this second anniversary of another senseless act of violence.
It’s an image that violates the value with which those made in the Creator’s image were born.
Imago dei. You and me. In Uvalde and everywhere. A human being one with another. A human being enraged by violence. A human being open to the voice of God.
The “black dog” of depression robbed these two daughters of their mother
She sang about the good old days. With love she built a bridge that helped her run away from the “black dog.” She knew where she was going when her day for dying came. Naomi (from her youth) reached out to God.
“Don’t be cruel!” she prayed intently as she’d cry herself to sleep. “Your Baby’s Got the Blues” was in her head. The rhythm of the rain drowned out the morning birds who’d chirp. A change of heart is what she daily pled.
But still this mother languished from depression’s dreaded spell. She verbalized her pain most publicly. Her country music lyrics often called to mind young love as she dreamed of joy and freedom. “Why not me?”
This Mother’s Day two daughters will be grieving for their mom who couldn’t bear the torture one more day. May Ashley and Wynona recognize love is alive. Please carry them, dear Father, this I pray.
** My introduction to The Judds came as I was spinning records as a deejay while working at KICY radio in Nome, Alaska. It was the summer of 1987. I had just turned thirty-five years of age. My wife and I along with our children accepted an invitation to serve as short-term missionaries at a radio station owned and operated by our denomination (The Evangelical Covenant Church). Much of the music played on the station that served the rural villages of Western Alaska was country/western.
“I Know Where I’m Going” by The Judds was on our play list. I loved the harmony of the mother/daughter duo. I also loved the title. Although the song was not spiritual in the least, it was an invitation to trust the Lord to lead me to a future of His choosing. While I didn’t know the details to what my life and ministry held in store, my Father knew. He knew where He was going with my life. He invited me to come, too.
Curiously, I just turned seventy. As I look back it’s hard to realize that experience in Nome was half my life ago.
A statue of Christ is carried to a bunker for safe keeping in Lviv Ukraine
They cradled Christ. They held him close while fleeing for their lives. By holding Him they clung with faith to cope. By saving what was priceless art they couldn’t help but feel the arms of One who offers saving hope.
Like Mary clutched her lifeless son when he was just a babe, they carried Jesus gently out of sight. And as they placed Him in a tomb away from tombs that fly, I’m hoping that they glimpsed an inner light.
I’m hoping that they grasped the truth of which the Scriptures speak. That Jesus is at home when taken in. That those who honor Him who died and worship Him as Lord, will find their worth beyond this world of sin.
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As we face the bleak midwinter and the angst of sunless days, dark emotions drain our joy ducts when depression stalks its prey. Lord of light please shine upon us. Bathe us with Your warmth we pray.
As we navigate the puddles in the place where joy once played, it is hard to sense Your presence, when our hearts are cold and gray. Lord of light please shine upon us. Bathe us with Your warmth we pray.
As we wait with hope for springtime when joy blossoms day by day we acknowledge our dependence on Your knowledge of our way. Lord of light please shine upon us. Bathe us with Your warmth we pray.
My Rhymes and Reasons 